Grey Umbrella
by Phoebonica
Summary: The story of that photograph. LemonyBeatrice, in the early years when they weren't depressed or dead.


**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the characters or settings in this story. This is the fluffiest thing I've ever written in this fandom. Because Valentine's Day can be depressing enough without me making it worse.

**Grey Umbrella**

A morning in early February is not the most usual time for young lovers to take a walk along the beach, but Lemony honestly couldn't think of a better one. They had the whole place to themselves, miles of pale sand stretching out around them. Admittedly it was chilly and there were occasional flurries of rain, but that just provided a reason to walk closer together, huddled under Beatrice's umbrella, sharing each other's warmth. Not that either of them needed an excuse.

There were times when they had to break apart, though, when they wanted to skim stones (Beatrice won, promising Lemony with a wicked smile that she'd collect her prize from him later), or investigate rock pools, or sketch patterns in the sand. Or when Lemony noticed something pale and glistening lying in the sand up ahead.

It was, as far as they could tell, a relatively harmless kind of jellyfish, but neither of them particularly wanted to touch it. "Are we sure it's even still alive?" Beatrice asked, poking it gingerly with the tip of her umbrella.

"Haven't a clue." Lemony shrugged. "But we can't just leave it here if it is. The tide's going out." He crouched down and peered at it, frowning. "We need something broad and flat… have you got anything? Because all I have on me is my commonplace book, and I don't want to get it wet."

"I might…" Beatrice rummaged through her shoulder bag for a moment, then shook her head. "Nothing the right shape. Wait a minute, though…" She closed her eyes, thinking back. "There was some driftwood by that last set of rocks. That might work."

The driftwood turned out to be the perfect shape. They manoeuvred the jellyfish onto the end of one long board, and then Lemony waded out a little way, holding the creature at arms length. "How far do you think I need to go?" he asked, watching the jellyfish carefully to make sure it didn't fall off.

"Just flick it from there," Beatrice called back. "They're more resilient than they look."

Lemony took a deep breath and tipped the board, sending the jellyfish soaring off the end and into the water. It vanished beneath the waves with a plop. "Do you think that –" he began, turning back, only to be greeted with a sudden flash of light from the shore. He yelped and jumped backwards, instinctively throwing his arms up in front of his face.

Beatrice sighed, lowering the camera. "You spoiled it. I wanted to get a picture of the heroic occasion. So I could tell our children how their father saved the life of a helpless creature."

"Can't you do that without a picture?" Lemony backed away slightly more, although he was going to have to stop at some point or at least roll his pants up a little further. "You know I don't like being photographed."

"All too well." Beatrice frowned, mock stern. "Just once, I'd like a picture of my boyfriend where he actually seems to want to look at me."

"I love to look at you," Lemony protested. "You know that. I just don't like it when I'm – Beatrice, _no_." He held up a protective hand as she raised the camera again. "I really don't want to –"

The shutter clicked again, the flash flashed. Lemony flinched, gave up the attempt at negotiation and pulled his jacket over his head, sprinting past Beatrice and up the beach. A barrage of flashes followed him, exploding like lightning bolts. "Lemony, don't be silly," Beatrice called after him, "it's only a picture! Lemony?"

He skidded to a halt at the top of the beach, falling to his knees and curling into a foetal position with his coat pulled over his head. He sensed Beatrice coming up beside him. "Lemony?" she said, sounding a little worried now. "Are you all right?"

"I'm not coming out till you put that thing away." Lemony was aware of how immature this sounded, but he couldn't help it.

Something landed in the sand next to him. "Okay, here. It's yours. I've only got one exposure left on there anyway." She knelt down beside him and he felt her hand resting on his back, warm and gentle. "I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry."

"It's all right." It was difficult to stay angry with Beatrice for long, and he couldn't see why he would want to. He uncurled into a more usual sitting position, and she sat down in the sand beside him, one arm around his waist. "I _know_ it's irrational of me," he said. "I just – there's something about being looked at through a lens. It makes me feel – trapped. Exposed. Like some entomological specimen, pinned to a board."

He gave an involuntary shiver. Beatrice looked away guiltily, which made him feel even worse, and he shifted a little closer to her and tried to smile. "Also they make me look fat."

She looked up at him with a suspicious frown, then laughed. And then it was all right again, the tension between them was gone. "I honestly didn't realise it bothered you that much," she said. "Forgive me?"

"Of course." He picked up the camera and handed it to her. "And if you _really_ want a clear shot of me, go ahead."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely." She raised the camera, and Lemony braced himself.

She lowered it again with a sigh. "Could you try not to look as though you're facing a firing squad?"

"I _am_ trying."

"Oh, never mind. It's not that important." She smiled, running a finger slowly down the side of his face. "I just miss you when we're apart."

"Well, I miss you too." He wrapped an arm around her, drawing her closer. Their faces were almost touching when she blinked and drew back.

"Hold on. I've got an idea." She scrambled to her feet, pushing the camera into his hands.

"I liked the idea we had just then," he protested, looking at it in bemusement.

She rolled her eyes. "We can do that afterwards. I just thought, if we can't get a picture of you facing me, we could at least have one that matches."

"How do you mean?"

"I mean, I'll run away down the beach, and you take the photo." It wasn't raining at all just then, but she opened the umbrella anyway, resting it over her shoulder. "Ready?"

Lemony nodded, and she turned on her heel and ran back the way they'd come, twirling and occasionally jumping as she went.

He had a feeling he'd probably pressed the shutter too quickly. Until they'd developed it, crowded together in the tiny darkroom that was really only big enough for one person (not that they needed an excuse), he was convinced that what would appear in the photo would be no more than an unidentifiable blur, or possibly only grey sand and clouds. The end result was far better than he expected. She was faceless and somehow bodiless as well, but unmistakably there.

"I think it's quite a good likeness," he said, and even though she growled and pretended to throw fixative at him, they both knew what he meant.


End file.
